


But We Both Know That's Not Quite True

by Miss_Molliarty



Series: Unexpected Affections [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-22
Updated: 2011-10-22
Packaged: 2017-10-24 20:57:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,304
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/267809
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miss_Molliarty/pseuds/Miss_Molliarty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock Holmes and John Watson escape the Great Game, but just barely and Molly learns the truth and some unexpected bits of information.</p>
            </blockquote>





	But We Both Know That's Not Quite True

It was late, very late actually, almost morning. Molly had been working the midnight shift for the past little while but for some reason that night seemed longer to her. The clock seemed to creep and the shadows in the mortuary would play tricks on her. A lot had been on her mind lately since she’d started dating Jim. They were happy, at least she thought so. Jim would always show her a good time and he was sweet, attentive and seemed to like her very much. That was until, of course, Sherlock Holmes clapped eyes on him and decided to analyze him. Sherlock, very pointedly, told Molly to break it off because he deduced that Jim was gay. Despite her protests he kept going... because he always did that. Molly didn’t know which hurt more; Jim not telling her himself, or having Sherlock Holmes throw it in her face, most likely thinking he was doing her favour.

Later that day, at The Fox, Molly had told Jim what Sherlock had thought of him, but left out the phone number so if he tried to deny anything, she would have that to fall on. She didn’t like herself for doing that, but that little scrap of paper was destroying her. Jim did deny it of course, vehemently. They ended up having a small quiet row in the back of the pub. Jim had said that with everything Molly had told him about Sherlock, he wanted to get one over on the Consulting Detective. It seemed to Jim, judging by Molly's blog posts, that Sherlock had been walking all over Molly and Jim hadn't liked it very much. That was where the idea to 'play' gay had come from. All through their evening, even after the small row, Jim continued to try to convince Molly it was all a little joke to see if he could fool this man who thought so highly of his own skills. It had been an awkward walk back to Molly’s flat as well, she still couldn’t help but hear Sherlock in her head. “Gay”.

That was until Jim could tell what she was dwelling on and said “Fine, if I prove it to you, will you believe me then?” She remembered the feeling of his arms pulling her toward him, his mouth on hers and his hands roaming freely over her body. The electricity from that moment still made her insides ache and her face turn crimson. She could tell he was aroused and that night, she had let him into her flat, and her bed. They'd had each other several times that night, and after each time, Molly wanted him even more and found herself initiating and being more impetuous than she'd ever been in her entire life. Something about Jim affected her so greatly. Possibly because he could be so different at any given moment. Even when he seemed intense and passionate, his eyes were focussed solely on her.

“So much for the fantastic deductions of the great Sherlock Holmes.” she had said, turning off the lamp on her desk. A nagging pain flared in Molly's stomach. Their night together happened a few days ago and she hadn't heard from Jim since. He hadn't shown up for work and his manager had asked Molly where he was. She honestly said that she didn't know. Molly had tried to not let it bother her, but it did. She missed Jim and was paranoid that their argument was still bothering him. That she had believed Sherlock instantly instead of asking Jim what was going on.

The sun was beginning to paint a glow on the floors as Molly wandered down the hallway to exit from the ER. There was a loud commotion and sirens had only ceased to blare. Doctors were hurrying to one room and Detective Inspector Lestrade was standing outside. Molly’s heart was in her throat and her stomach plunged. Stepping hurriedly toward Lestrade, he noticed her right away.

“Molly... could you stay here please? I need you to look in on them when they wake up.”  
“Wait, Inspector, who? What’s going on?”  
“I have to go back to the crime scene but they’ll need to be questioned if... when they wake up.”  
“But who, I don’t understand. There’s been an accident?”  
“Yes. Dr. Watson and Sherlock Holmes.”

Molly’s face drained of all colour. Despite Sherlock being a total arse and hurting her feelings occasionally and being totally ignorant of it, somehow she did still care for him.

“Of course, I’ll make sure they’re stable and text you shall I?” Her voice was raspy with some kind of emotion she couldn’t place. Lestrade noted it however and put a hand on her shoulder.  
“Thank you. And don’t worry... they’re in rough shape but I’ll wager it’ll take more than this to put a final end to the both of them. I have to go.... you have my number.”

The wall of the hospital held Molly upright until the doctors had stabilized Sherlock and John. Lestrade must have made them aware that Molly was to stay with them, she was in such a daze she must not have noticed when he did.

“Go on Molly, they’re both out but they’ll be alright.”  
“Thank you.”

Molly didn’t look at the two patients at first, she dropped her purse onto a chair but left her jacket on, her arms were freezing despite the wool pea coat she was wearing. Turning around, she covered her mouth until she could compose herself. The next moment, John’s chart was in her hands, and she glanced over the laundry list of injuries, the medications they had given him. Dr. Watson was resting, bandaged and an IV in his arm. A deep breath heaved through Molly’s lungs when she turned to the bed beside him. Sherlock had the same injuries, same medications, but for some reason she felt the need to look him over herself. The Consulting Detective was battered, like he had taken the brunt of whatever happened. Molly had a good idea what had caused this and thanked God that they were alive. Not many people would have been able to get out of an explosion intact... if it was in fact an explosion.

She was well trained and versed even though she’d spent most of her time in the lab and writing up reports. You don’t work at St. Bart’s without having some kind of medical background. Molly’s fingers traced along the bruises of Sherlock’s face, carefully, she didn’t dare touch his ribs for fear of disturbing the rest he needed. One or more had to have been broken or cracked, at the very least bruised. “What have you gotten yourself into Sherlock?” A small touch to his temple was meant to be a comfort while he rested. Sherlock’s hair was scorched in places and small flecks of his dark curls came off onto Molly’s hand. She exhaled and touched his cheek gently before sitting down in a chair at his bedside; she was only supposed to stay until they woke. Her stomach lurched at the thought of he might have been killed that night. Molly didn’t know Dr. Watson very well yet, but she looked toward his bed and decided to watch him for a moment. He had seemed like a nice man, and wondered how he ever got involved with Sherlock's business. Molly hoped that their antics wouldn't be extrapolated over time, killing them both. If their current injuries were any indication, she feared that this was only the beginning.

 

Eventually, Molly’s eyes wandered back to Sherlock and closed entirely. The silence except for the beeping of the medical equipment lulled her into an uneasy sleep. Her friend was hurt and all she wanted was to have Jim there to comfort her, tell her he would be alright. Small kisses turned into more urgent ones... though there was someone behind her, calling her name with a severity that only meant she was in harm’s way. She turned her head, still in Jim’s embrace and his mouth on her neck. All she saw was Sherlock, his arm outstretched and a look of horror on his face. “NO!!!” was all she heard in her dream and it was so vivid; she awoke with a shudder to find Sherlock staring at her. Even bandaged, bruised and broken, she could see the gears in his head moving. She knew the visions in her dream were just that; a dream. Sherlock Holmes didn’t really care for anyone, why should he care that Molly continued to be with Jim?

Molly’s heart slowed and she stood, folding her jacket over the chair. Absently she wondered just how long her injured friend had been watching her sleep. Sherlock’s eyes watched her intently and she wanted so badly to tell him to stop. Stop analyzing, stop everything. “You’re awake. How are you feeling?”  
“Looked at my chart then?”  
“Yes. Frankly I find it a miracle you and John weren’t blown to bits.” She toyed with the top of the clip-board that held his chart.  
Sherlock moved his head gingerly and winced. “You could tell it was an explosion? Or did Lestrade tell you?” Burns on his neck and chest were visible when he moved.  
Molly met his eyes with a quick flash of anger. “No. I surmised it from your injuries. Head contusions, abrasions, burns, bruised and possibly cracked ribs... and some of your hair is burnt.”  
“I’m rubbing off on you then?”  
“I’m educated, and you’re arrogant.” Molly whispered, with an edge to her voice that made Sherlock’s eyebrows rise. She didn’t like the fact that just because she was well-educated and that he hadn’t bothered to see it in the past didn’t mean that she wasn’t clever as well.  
“Fair enough. How’s John?” Sherlock turned to move but Molly stopped him with a touch to his foot.  
“Try not to move too much.” Molly couldn’t help her tone going back to her usual compassionate bedside manner, it was just her nature. “John will be fine, he’s resting and they saw to him first.”  
“Good.” he said, relieved, and leaned back into his pillow, his mind still working. Sherlock wondered briefly if Molly had broken off with Jim. For her sake, he hoped she had. Because he doubted that the Jim Molly knew would reveal himself as James Moriarty - the career criminal behind all of the murders that had taken place recently.

Molly picked up her coat in one hand and checked on Sherlock’s IV quickly before turning to leave. “Well, you’re awake now and I was only asked to stay till you woke up.” She took out her phone to text Lestrade but Sherlock interrupted her.  
“You knew I would wake up Molly, just how you know John’s going to be fine. You stayed because you care about...”

That time it was Sherlock’s turn to be cut off by Molly’s phone trilling. She touched the screen to check the message, hoping it was Jim finally checking in. Her hopes were dashed however. Lestrade had beaten her to it:

 _‘Are they up yet?  
DI Lestrade’_

“That Jim?” Sherlock asked with a barbed tone.

Molly looked to the heavens in exasperation and shook her head. “Why? So you can warn me that my boyfriend is gay again? Or would you like to elaborate on the subject to try to hurt me even more.”

“I didn’t say those things to hurt you. I was merely observing and trying to keep you from wasting your time.” Sherlock couldn’t let on that John’s words from before stuck in his head rather annoyingly. _‘People’s lives are at stake. Don’t you care?’_ He usually tried very hard to stay detached, but Molly’s reactions in those moments were grating on him... she was usually so kind to him. A flash of a memory came back to him, the pool and telling Moriarty that people had died just so Jim could get his attention. That wasn't the usual Sherlock talking - John was in danger at that moment and his flat-mate's influence was evidently affecting him, however minutely. Molly seemed unharmed, physically, from what he could see. Could it be that this Jim Moriarty actually did care for her? Would she even listen to him when he tried to warn her about Jim? All Sherlock could do was try.

“You should’ve kept your deductions to yourself.” Molly was beginning to lose her temper, it wasn’t like her at all but she’d had enough from Sherlock. He’d broken her heart by using her over and over again when he knew full well that she would comply and when she finally found someone who liked her he had to be clever and spoil it all. “You’re not my father, you’re a friend... a work colleague and I’m a grown woman. I can make my own mistakes and if Jim was gay I would’ve preferred to hear it from him, not you.”

The colour was high on her cheeks as she sent Lestrade a return text:

 _‘He’s being obnoxious. So he’s fine, hurry.  
MH’_

Molly tucked her phone away and continued. “You needn’t try to impress me any further. I know you’re clever. You’re the most intelligent, observant man I’ve ever met.” Molly’s voice softened and tried to hold back the tear that slid down her face. “You don’t have to keep proving it to me. If you need something, just ask me... no more flattery, please.” _It hurts too much to know that you don’t mean any of it._

Sherlock didn’t say a thing, like he’d told John before in the cafe, girlfriends weren’t his area... though in fact, dealing with women in general was what he couldn’t handle.

“You were wrong by the way.” She said, staring at her shoes but lifted her head and pierced Sherlock with her gaze. “He’s not gay and I’m still with him.” Molly didn’t know why she felt the need to let the infuriating man know that she was still with Jim, it slipped out.

“I wasn’t wrong... he was only acting.” His mouth was agape after that though, realizing what Molly had meant. She’d gone to bed with him to find out for herself.

“What?” she said "How did you know that?"  
“He told me so. He was playing the part of Jim from IT, playing gay.”  
“When did he tell you this?” Her anger was beginning to rise again.  
“Tonight. After he’d abducted John, strapped a load of Semtex to him and had a small army of rifles trained on the both of us.”

All she could do to keep from falling over was to sit down, back in the chair at Sherlock’s bedside. Molly didn't speak, just tried very hard to keep breathing and make sense of it all. “It can’t be true.”

“It is Molly.” The situation that he found himself in was extremely hard for Sherlock. Even at the pool when John had used himself in order to save him, he'd had a very hard time afterward thanking him for it. He knew Molly would take his advice better if he was more compassionate, but that wasn't how he conducted himself. Meanwhile, Molly's mind was working a mile a minute. Was she doomed to fall for the wrong man every time? Either it was Sherlock - cold and manipulative but extremely handsome and charming, like wonderful bait luring you into a dangerous trap - or Jim; fun and easy-going with a smoldering serious alternate persona. But evidently, Jim's alter-ego was a criminal. She wondered briefly if he had even cared for her at all.

Sherlock began to speak in a hoarse, low tone. "I was trying to be kind before." Molly looked at him and then back down at her hands that shook in her lap. Always succinct and dealing with facts, Sherlock tried to comfort and convince Molly to be rid of Jim in the only way he knew how; by telling Molly the truth, with facts. "John had informed me afterward that my advice to you was not kind at all." He was weary from the events at the pool, being badly injured, and the drugs they had given him for any pain he was enduring. "This time, I need to express to you how dangerous this man is. He is a criminal. He may not have killed with his own hands, but the plots and schemes that brought about the deaths of many were of his design."

Molly let silent tears slide down her face, at the same time being cross at herself for letting them escape in front of Sherlock. She imagined that the man would surely take it as a sign of weakness on her part. Quickly, she dashed them away with the back of her hand and stared over at John. That was until Sherlock made a horrible sound of pain and discomfort. Molly turned her head quickly to find him trying to sit up, even lean forward on his own. She sprang from her seat instantly. "Oh God, don't! Stop moving Sherlock."

"I'm fine... I’m fine." he said in a sort of wheezing tone.

"If you wanted to sit up you should have said as much." _God, stubborn arse!_ Molly reached for the bed controls with one hand and braced her other hand on the rail of Sherlock's bed. The bed whined when Molly pressed the button, helping Sherlock into a reclined sitting position.

 _One last time..._

Sherlock's hand covered Molly's, by 'accident' of course, trying to further adjust his position on his own. Shocked, Molly stared at Sherlock, confused. She met his eyes skeptically but listened, almost as if he'd put her under a trance. "You have to make yourself free of him. I expect he may do that for you. He'll be leaving for a short time to start anew. But if he doesn't...I'll not have Lestrade calling me down to the mortuary one night only to find you dead and leaving me with a new, green lab assistant who is complete rubbish."

"I thought I had just asked you to stop the flattery Sherlock?" Molly said meekly.

"I have. That was the truth, nothing more." They were both quiet for the briefest of moments until Molly's phone trilled loudly and made her jump. "Oh Crikey!" Pulling her hand free from under Sherlock's, she reached into her pocket and expected to see Lestrade's instructions.

Sherlock looked away and felt even more weary than he was before. This showing some kind of emotion drained him. "Tell Lestrade we’re fine and anything he needs will have to wait until later, when we’re lucid.”  
Molly barely heard him through the ringing of her ears.

 _‘By now you know all, I’m sure  
You really are lovely  
I wish you well  
JM’_

Sherlock noted that Molly wasn’t typing anything, she only stared at her mobile with an odd look on her face. “What? What is it?” Molly was shocked. She handed Sherlock her phone so he could see for himself. Despite everything Sherlock had divulged, his pleas (or what he may consider pleas) for her safety, Molly felt a hole, a loss when she’d read the message from Jim. Criminal he may be, but Molly felt as if he still cared for her. She wanted him there to ask him. That wouldn’t be possible. All she was left with was bewilderment and a realization that she'd played the pawn perfectly, again. As well, she really didn't feel like talking about her situation with Sherlock. He'd played with her emotions too much and now it seems that Jim was only trying to get to him through her. It vexed her beyond belief and ripped a jagged tear in the hole Jim had left her with.


End file.
